Colors
by Kiki Cabou
Summary: Everybody’s favorite ‘grumpy bugger’ discovers the value and the cost of doing the right thing.  Takes place about a year after the events of “Love Actually.”  A Harry and Karen story.
1. Christmas Lights

Disclaimer: _Love Actually_ does not belong to me. I do however take full responsibility for the following plot.

Rating: T, because this is a story about adults. Language, situations, etc.

Note: I just saw _Love Actually_ for the first time two weeks ago, and you know what? "Fluff" pieces can be really inspiring. Harry and Karen, for example, are two masterfully painted (if woefully underdeveloped) characters in a bright parade of a film. They intrigued me, they amused me, and their "maybe they're okay, maybe they're not" ending annoyed me to the point where I had to write this. All comments are very welcome.

**COLORS**

Prologue

_Christmas Lights_.

- 2 WEEKS TO CHRISTMAS -

Harry wiped his face and pulled the last nail from his pocket. He hammered it in carefully, not interested upsetting his balance. After all, it would do no good to drive it home, only to fall off the ladder and kill himself. He was currently perched precariously in front of his house, wrestling with his least favorite Christmastime activity – putting up lights. He'd gotten a late start this year, but that was okay. The kids were fully convinced that as long as they were up by Christmas Eve, Santa would find the house. Harry was in the clear.

"Come on, you little bugger, get in there!" he coaxed the nail. It slid neatly into its groove and he tapped it into place.

The wiring on the lights was frayed all over the place, and the whole apparatus had quite frankly seen better days. But the lights had worked faithfully for many years, so there had been no need to replace them.

"Right, Bernie, flip the switch!"

Bernard, who had been waiting on the porch for exactly this instruction, did as his father asked. The lights came on in an array of dazzling colors – cheerful reds, pleasant blues, vibrant greens and oranges, the occasional pink and golden yellow. They reflected off Harry's glasses, momentarily blinding him, and he squinted into the glare. It was amazing. This ridiculously old set of Christmas lights was still hanging on. Sort of like him and Karen.

"Bloody Christmas miracle," he muttered. "Thank God that's done."

He clambered down off the ladder and looked up at his work. Bernard ignored the front steps in favor of hopping straight off the porch into the snowy front yard. He walked over and joined his dad in looking up at the lights. Harry felt rather proud of himself. The little line of Christmas lights across the top of the porch was neat, if unimpressive.

"Hey Mum! Daisy! Dad put up the lights! Come out and have a look!" Bernard yelled.

Karen and Daisy came out at the noise, throwing on their coats. Harry smiled.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked, once they'd joined him in the yard.

Karen swept her gaze to the right, where the neighbors had done a festive winter wonderland scene, and to the left, where the other neighbors had managed to outline their entire house in Christmas lights. Harry's effort looked rather pathetic by comparison.

"It's… erm…" She was trying to be diplomatic.

Then one of the bulbs – a red one – exploded, startling Daisy. She backed into her mum. Harry's eyebrows went up. _That_ wasn't supposed to happen. Then a green bulb burst. Keeping both eyes on the display, Harry herded the kids and Karen back a few paces.

Then a blue bulb burst and the whole family could only look on helplessly as the resulting spark alit on the frayed wire. In a second the entire line was ablaze, threatening to spread to the roof.

"Jesus!" Harry yelled, shocked into action. He sprinted into the house for a fire extinguisher, and raced back out just in time to get on the ladder and spray like a maniac until the flames were out. Breathing hard, he stumbled off the ladder and took another look.

"Oh my," Karen said.

"Oh Dad," Daisy sighed.

"Wicked! Can you do that again?" Bernard asked.

Harry looked back at them all in annoyance, gritted his teeth, and turned back to the house. All the extinguisher goop dripping off the steaming roof looked like cheap flock on a Christmas tree. He sighed.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to get new Christmas lights."

"I suppose we will," Karen said quietly. "Come on you two, back inside. Dad's going to clean up his mess and then we'll all have dinner."

With a meaningful look at Harry, she shooed the children ahead of her into the house. Harry was left alone in the snowy front yard, holding the fire extinguisher, staring dolefully at the dripping roof. He stood there for a moment as the door closed, taking in the sad remains of something that had worked for years and had suddenly broken down.

Dropping the extinguisher into the snow, he trudged out round back to get a shovel and a rubbish bag for goop-clearing purposes and walked back out front dragging the shovel behind him. It was times like this that made it rather hard to pretend everything was okay. It had been nearly a year since the Christmas necklace disaster, or the CND, as he mentally referred to it. When he'd returned in January from a three-week business trip to the States, the children and Karen had greeted him at the airport. The kids were enthusiastic; Karen was shy and polite. Daisy had insisted on leaping into his arms and Bernie had even made him a little sign, but all he'd gotten from his wife was a peck on the cheek.

"How are you?" he'd asked.

"Fine," she'd said, with that tight Mona Lisa smile. "I'm fine."

Karen was not fine. Harry discovered this when he found her crying in the bedroom a few afternoons later, but he'd just hid round the corner and listened to her muffled sobbing and called himself a coward in his head, rather than go in and talk to her. He couldn't handle it.

So he and Karen had mutually decided to pretend, rather than fix things. They stayed ridiculously busy and out of each other's way, and told themselves it was for the best. They put on happy faces and had spirited conversations at the dinner table, and told themselves it was for the sake of the children. And over the course of the spring and summer and fall, they'd gotten so good at pretending that they had even started to pretend with each other. Slowly but surely they smoothed over the disturbance in their marriage, the way road workers pave over a pothole. Except that they hadn't used the best materials – the asphalt was starting to crack.

"This is nonsense," Harry mumbled, scraping burnt wire and white glop off the roof and onto the snowy lawn below.

With the holiday that had caused so much trouble looming, Harry knew that he needed to sit Karen down and talk to her, maybe even get her something to make up for his utter stupidity last year. With their busy schedules a discussion like that was nigh on impossible, but he knew he needed to try. They just couldn't go on like this – their perfunctory if pleasant conversations, her recent obsessive exercising (Was she trying to _disappear_? Honestly!), his working late, and most odiously, her using those "devices" and his taking care of his needs in the shower rather than touching each other in bed. It depressed him beyond anything. It was just wrong. They were husband and wife, damn it, not roommates.

"Bloody hell," he snarled, overtaken by pique.

He took his rage out on the roof and smacked off the last of the clumpy, broken Christmas light display as hard as he could. Unfortunately, he didn't have that good a grip on the shovel. It sailed out of his hand, hitting their post box with a clang and knocking it askew, and he nearly fell off the ladder. Arms flailing, heart going a mile a minute, he scrabbled for the porch post and clung onto it until he could breathe properly again. Then he carefully found his way down to the ground, where he set about shoveling all the rubbish into the bag and straightening the box.

"Harry, supper!" Karen was in the doorway, shivering a little.

"Coming!" he called back, and dumped the results of the last hour in the rubbish bin out front in the street.

He dusted off his cold hands and crunched through the ankle-deep snow in the yard toward the fire extinguisher. Karen's famously fragrant chicken kebabs had him by the nose ten feet from the house, and he wondered for the millionth time how he could ever have been so stupid as to take his wife for granted. With a sigh he scooped up the fire extinguisher and made the porch steps, where he paused only to knock the snow from his boots. Catlike, he slipped into the house and shut the door.


	2. Pink Slip

_Pink Slip._

- ONE WEEK TO CHRISTMAS -

Harry set his briefcase down on his polished, blonde-wood desk and shut his door in Mia's face. His secretary was about to ask him something, but he just couldn't stand to look her in the eye or listen to her today. Perhaps it was her smooth, teasing tone. Perhaps it was the gold necklace she wore, plainly visible against the gray of her tight turtleneck sweater. The symbol of his betrayal shone like a beacon against the wool, and he'd stared at it just for a second, an ugly snarl tugging at his lip. And he'd slammed the door.

He turned the lock with a flick of his wrist, feeling defiant and upset.

This past week had been a total nightmare. On Monday morning, right on the heels of Sunday night's Christmas light explosion, Mia had sauntered into the office with her briefcase, poised and ready. This was a big problem, as Harry thought he'd gotten rid of her for good earlier this year. As soon as he'd returned from his trip in January, Mia had made a big deal about how she missed him. He'd responded by transferring her to Surrey. She'd stayed there until late April when they'd sent her back, citing that they'd found a permanent replacement. Harry managed to be polite to her, but the weather was turning, and Mia had begun wearing short skirts and tanks around the office, weaving around him tantalizingly at every opportunity. He'd nearly lost his mind. So he'd spoken to Bob in the Bristol offices and had her transferred there in May.

Harry stared through the door. Mia was sitting down, back to him, arms crossed. But Sarah, his American assistant, was standing up with a worried expression on her face. Shit. She would try to come in, he knew it.

Mia's second transfer had gone through about the time that Sarah's brother had taken a turn for the worse. Harry liked Sarah very much, which was why he found her mentally ill sibling's fierce consumption of her life so vexing. But the tone of her phone conversations had changed, and he'd noticed. He grew worried when she actually began ducking out of the office to talk, instead of ducking her head in her cubicle and speaking in a whisper.

Everything ended at the beginning of June. When that first Monday evening arrived, Mia was safely ensconced in the area outside Bob's office in Bristol. And Harry, just leaving for the night, watched as Sarah received that terrible call on her mobile.

"What?" she said. Her shocked tone stopped him in front of her desk.

It was the doctor. Somehow Sarah's brother had managed to cheek his pills for a week and had taken them all at once, right before his usual late afternoon nap. They'd only discovered he was dead when they were unable to wake him.

Harry put a hand on her shoulder and told her to go home and take the week off. Sarah grabbed him around the waist, buried her face in his shirt, and burst into tears. Harry panicked. Crying women scared the hell out of him; always had. He put one hand gently on Sarah's soft reddish hair and widened his eyes at Karl, the only other man around, imploring him from across the office to get his nubile arse over here and help out. The young man whom Sarah had adored for so long complied in a flash. He slipped in-between Harry and Sarah (Harry never figured out quite how) and gathered Sarah in his arms, where she continued to sob for several minutes before she noticed the shirt under her cheek was different. Harry had stood back, unsure of what to do, but it turned out that they were just fine being alone together, so he'd very quietly walked away.

In the months that followed, Karl had expertly consoled Sarah, little by little helping her out of her hole of devastation, taking her by the hand and gently tugging her back to being her happy, sweet self. He'd also (according to reports) taken Sarah out for expensive dinners, taken Sarah to the opera, and most recently, taken Sarah to meet his parents. It was only after the "parents" remark that Harry really allowed himself to hope for their future happiness.

The knock made him jump. Sarah was waving cheerfully on the other side of the glass door. Oh, bugger it all, she wanted in. Harry hung his head sheepishly and shuffled over to unlock it. She came in and shut the door behind her.

"Um, is everything all right?" she asked.

Harry sighed. No. Nothing was all right. But he had to keep it together and be the stern 'big cheese' around here, or else this damn office would dissolve into chaos. He hitched his hip on his desk and crossed his arms.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, please," Sarah said. "You stormed in here, greeted _nobody_, and slammed the door. For Chrissake Harry, what's going on?"

He wanted to tell her. He really did. But that would just unearth things that were better left buried and create more office gossip that he didn't need. He took off his glasses and began to clean them. It was nice to let the world blur for a moment.

"It's Mia, isn't it?" Sarah said softly.

Harry couldn't hide his surprise. Nor could he find the words to contradict her fast enough. She pressed on.

"Sorry. It's just that you were so happy and productive and … relieved … when she was gone. Both times. And ever since she came back last week, you've been an absolute bear. Do you have another explanation?"

Harry finished cleaning his glasses and put them on. His shoulders were tightening. He felt antsy, full of adrenaline, like he needed to get up and move, or just run. Guilt was amazing stuff, he thought. It was almost better than an energy bar.

And Sarah, dear sweet Sarah who was just nervous from his nervousness and trying to make conversation in the face of his silence, unwittingly drove in the final nail. "That's, um, that's a very pretty necklace she's got on."

"I don't know anything about that!" Harry blurted out, sounding as panicked as he felt.

Sarah stared. Then she smiled, a gentle, knowing smile, as though this response had solved a mystery. She came over and stood close. Harry watched as she gently peeled his left hand from its white-knuckled grip on the desk and took it in both of hers. Her red hair was haloed around her face and in the soft light coming in through the window, just for a second he fancied her as some city-dwelling angel who had taken pity on him.

"Harry, you need to know some things. Alice, who works in the Surrey office, told me on the down low that Mia had been caught with some assistant manager doing naughty things on the copy machine. They almost dismissed her, but she weaseled out of it. And word from the Bristol office is that she was carrying on with Bob Gardner. Mrs. Gardner came within an inch of finding out, so he sent her back here."

Harry was surprised. The letters Mia had handed him on both occasions said something about "services no longer required," and finished with the explanation that they had located a permanent replacement. Nothing had even hinted at sordid activities. He couldn't believe Bob had gone so far with her, though. Well, perhaps he could. Bob was a good-looking middle-aged man with a bossy, busybody wife and three screaming children. Anything for a little relief, probably.

"You gave her that necklace, didn't you, Harry?"

Harry nodded in shame. "Mind you, that was the _only_ thing I gave her. Karen found out. We've moved on, but nothing's really been the same." Surprisingly, it felt good to say this.

Sarah sighed. Her hands were very warm. "Harry, I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice. Ready?"

He nodded again.

"Fire her. Give her … what do they call it around here? … 'the old Spanish archer,' that's it. Give her the old Spanish archer." She was squeezing his hand firmly in support.

He laughed a little, mostly at the contrast of Sarah's plain Midwest accent with her newly acquired slang.

"Please just do it. Get her out of here. Her attitude gets on everybody's nerves, she's making you nuts, and quite frankly her work is sloppy. She's never on-time with anything."

Harry looked at her then and realized her advice was on the mark. Why had this solution not been obvious to him before?

"Sloppy work, eh?" he said, thinking fast. "Good. That's good. Thank you, Sarah. Go back out to your desk, please. I'll see you later."

She gave him another gentle smile and then she was on her way, leaving Harry in his office with a way out. He spent the next hour catching up on paperwork and making a few phone calls, but it really was just a way to waste time so that Mia would not suspect that Sarah had anything to do with this.

He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a form, filling it out in his best hand, and then picked up his phone to get his secretary on the line.

"Mia, I need you in my office please."

There was a pause, and Harry watched through the glass wall as Mia swiveled in her desk chair and turned to face him, still on the phone.

"Why?" she asked coyly, adjusting her legs so Harry could not miss the action.

He steeled himself. "Now," he said, and hung up.

Mia gave him a little frown, but came in and closed the door behind her. She faced Harry, who was sitting sedately behind his desk, somehow managing to look stern and forbidding in spite of his arty, modern glasses and tweed coat. A piece of pink paper sat in front of him. He motioned at the hard chair in front of the desk, and she sat down and crossed her legs, hiking her skirt up just a little.

She smiled. "Is everything all right?" she asked, her question a cruel parody of Sarah's.

"It will be soon," he said. "I've come to a decision."

He slid the pink paper across to her, and the color drained from Mia's face as she realized it was a P45. She read it and nudged it back at him with a scoff.

"Sloppy work? You can't be serious. I'm not sloppy."

"You certainly are," Harry said calmly. "I can only imagine what a mess you made on that copy machine in Surrey."

The air was charged, now. Mia crossed her arms and eyed Harry the way a cat eyes a spider, with that kind of look that's torn between eating something and playing with it.

Mia licked her lips. "You can't fire me. I'll tell your wife about the necklace."

"She already knows. And lo and behold, we've survived. No thanks to you." His tone was all business. He nudged the paper at her again. "Sign the form."

She nudged it back, leaning over the desk as she did it so her cleavage looked more impressive. She'd changed her tone; she was wheedling now, rallying desperately. "Look, we can work through this. The offer I made you last year still stands, Harry. Besides … you know I always get what I want." She unconsciously fingered the necklace.

Harry gave Mia a chilly smile. Damn, but this felt good. "Not this time."

She had lost. Maintaining composure for the moment, she finally took the paper and signed it, scooting it back to him across the desk with a dismissive gesture. "Why are you really firing me, Harry?"

"I don't like your handiwork," Harry replied, signing his name on the bottom and not looking at her. The cold way he said _handi_work, with that little clip on the "k," told her everything she needed to know.

"You won't replace me," she said, standing up.

"I already have." That was a total lie, but if it rattled her, it was worth it. "You have two hours to clean out your desk. I'd like you gone by lunch."

"And if I'm not gone by lunch?" she challenged.

Harry stood up slowly to face her, and suddenly her friendly boss was gone. Harry the Businessman, the tough, experienced negotiator who had made this little business what it was, was here now.

"I'll call Security and have someone escort you out. You'd best get packing. Good luck, Mia."

He shook her hand then, as though he'd just put a deal through. Mia was ready to explode. She turned on her heel and stalked out, leaving Harry to close the door behind her.

At half past noon, Harry was on the phone with a potential new secretary (male and thankfully heterosexual) named Greg, watching from inside his office as Mia moved out. Harry noted with some amusement that nobody was assisting her. And then she was on her way, blowing out of the office like a gust of wind, purse dangling off one shoulder as she struggled to carry two big cardboard boxes, wobbling a little in her high-heeled boots and looking murderous.

"So you can start tomorrow? Excellent. And the last name is … Jones. Yes, I've got it. I'll have Ellis make you up a badge for tomorrow. It'll be there waiting for you at the front desk when you get here. Yes, I'll see you at 10 o'clock sharp. Right, til then." He rang off and looked at his watch.

Time for lunch. He stood up and stretched. Pleased at how his day was going, Harry walked out of his office, donning his coat as he headed for the doors. He walked by Sarah's desk on his way out.

"Way to go, boss," she said quietly.

He smiled at her warmly, truly happy for the first time in a long time. His face felt just a little too small for his grin. He decided right then to get Karen her Christmas present while he was out.

"I'm heading out to lunch. Do you want something?"

"Thanks, but I brown-bagged it," Sarah said, holding up a little igloo container. "See you in a bit."

He nodded and continued out into the parking lot. He had a parking space near the doors, and he whistled tunelessly as he rooted around in his pockets for his keyless entry remote. His auto, a nondescript blue sedan, was lightly dusted with snow. He idly considered it as he hunted for the little hard bit of plastic, and then suddenly noticed that the roof of the sedan looked a little low.

"What the…?"

He wandered around the car in the vain hope that he was imagining this, but the evidence was incontrovertible. All four tyres had been slashed with considerable energy. The parts that touched the ground were pooling on the concrete. A possible suspect came to mind immediately.

"Oh, of all the childish … shit."

There was no way to get this fixed right now. He needed to get something to eat as well as find Karen's present, and if he spent lunch waiting for a bloody tow truck, he'd miss the opportunity. Christmas was a week away, and with the office going full throttle he really did have a lot to do. He couldn't assume he'd get another chance. Resigned to taking public transport for the rest of the day, he pulled out his mobile and dialed the office.

"Sarah, what's the quickest way to get to the Shopping Centre? … Without a car. … Yes, you heard me right."

With Sarah's directions squawking in his ear, he turned and started walking to the train station.


	3. Blue Box

A/N: The prologue of this piece was partially inspired by the second verse ("Rigging up the Lights") of the hilarious song "The Twelve Pains of Christmas," by Bob Rivers. If you have never heard "The Twelve Pains of Christmas," I highly recommend it.

* * *

_Blue Box_.

Harry hadn't taken public transport in years, but he felt he was up to the challenge. However, as he stood at the train stop, bundling himself against the cold and trying to make sense of the dizzying array of numbers and times listed on the wall, his confidence was starting to waver. He tried to look nonchalant, as though he did this every day, meanwhile wondering if this train was the right one.

It was the right one. And the bus afterwards (a honking double-decker) was the right one too. After twenty minutes of bravely navigating his route he arrived at London's premiere shopping center, where he stepped quickly off the bus and into the heated air inside. It was getting pretty nippy out there. He looked at his watch. If he factored in the time it would take him to get back to the office, he only really had about fifteen minutes here. Best get cracking on the present then, and save lunch for afterwards.

His first thought was a scarf. Stupid idea, but he figured it would be good for a "prelude" present and besides, Karen really did like them. He stopped in front of a department store window, caught by a lovely wool scarf on a mannequin. It was a brilliant, warm red with gold flecks running through it. He walked in. A few minutes later he walked out with a store bag, and continued on his way.

As he wandered through the brightly lit, marbled hallways festively decked out for the season, and walked by imposing department stores with their elegant display windows, he wondered what to really get Karen. She definitely needed something pretty and expensive, especially after last year's fiasco. Not a necklace. Not a CD. Definitely not a bracelet. Karen was one of those women whose hands were constantly in motion. She just barely tolerated her wedding and engagement rings – sometimes she wore them around her neck on a chain to keep them off her hands while she worked in the kitchen.

Harry wandered straight by the food court, lost in thought. He was just past the escalators when it hit him. Diamond earrings! Perfect. He congratulated himself. Karen really liked earrings, and diamonds, so that killed two birds with one stone. Now, the only issue was where to find his quarry. He looked behind him and saw that he had wandered just past a directory, so he hurried over and scanned down to the jewelry stores. A shop called Hilltown Jewelers was just two stores down from his location. He had never heard of the place and had no idea if they carried diamonds, but in the interest of his dwindling time he wandered in that direction.

The store was quiet and pleasant and not as busy as the department store opposite. The lighting was soft. Harry wandered around hunting for diamonds, weaving through a small crowd of shoppers and narrowly avoiding collisions. He was looking intently into a glass case (his fifth) when he heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. Harry looked up.

A terribly familiar-looking jewelry salesman was smiling at him. The fellow had protuberant eyes, bushy eyebrows, and friendly, slightly simpering expression.

"Are you looking for anything in particular, sir?"

Oh no. Oh _God_ no.

Harry felt his jaw tighten. This was the ridiculously slow employee who had tortured him with the wrapping paper last year. The specifics of that debacle were practically etched on the inside of his skull. The total panic he'd felt, ducking away when Karen had burst in on them, grateful only for the fact that the salesman hadn't called out to him and _really_ ruined things. The casual walk away, accompanied by his happily chattering wife. And of course, the frantic double-back: "I um, I need the restroom. You'll be all right here for ten minutes?" followed by a quick jog and the hasty exchange of money for a ridiculously frou-frou present at the jewelry counter.

He still remembered that painful wrestling match with the holly, poking his thumb bloody as he ripped the present to pieces and threw all of the dried flowers in the rubbish bin just so he could get the box home in his pocket.

Harry was not pleased to see this man again, a living reminder of everything that had gone so horribly wrong. He glimpsed the salesman's nametag. It announced _RUFUS_ in elegant gold script on a burgundy background.

"Erm …" he stalled.

"Sir, I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you look rather familiar," Rufus said gently.

Harry looked at him in some surprise.

"Ah yes, I remember now," the jewelry salesman said cheerfully. "Gold necklace. Last year, when I worked at Brightford's. I have an excellent memory for pieces," he added, tapping his forehead. "How did your, erm, 'significant other' like it?"

There was a tense pause.

"Not very well, I'm afraid," Harry muttered. That was true enough.

"I am sorry," Rufus said, sounding quite like he meant it. "Perhaps some diamonds this year?"

"I … Y-Yes," Harry said, a little startled. It was like the man had read his mind. Spooky. "Do you carry them?"

"Certainly, sir. What sort of piece are you looking for?"

Harry looked blank.

"Necklace? Bracelet?" Rufus prompted.

"Ah," Harry said, cottoning on. "Earrings, actually."

"A man of taste," Rufus flattered. "Come."

He led Harry over a few cases to a rather spectacular display of diamond earrings. Harry wondered how he could have missed them on his first pass through the store. The display was alarmingly shiny.

"What shape does she favor?" Rufus asked as he prepared to open the back of the case.

"What?" Harry was staring at all the diamonds and feeling a little bewildered.

Rufus smiled up at him. "Does she like big, small, dangly, studs…?"

Harry blinked at him like a deer in the headlights. Rufus tried again.

"What shape is your … wife's …?"

"Wife's," Harry confirmed.

"Wife's face? Long, wide, somewhere in the middle?"

"Erm, middle, I suppose," Harry said. He'd never really considered Karen's face like that. All he really knew was that she was pretty. Wasn't that enough?

"Eye color?"

"Brown," Harry said, perplexed.

"Hair?"

"Ash blonde." Now he was getting a bit suspicious.

"Hmm. Does she have nice teeth?"

"Yes. Wait a minute, what the hell does that have to do with anything?" Harry snapped.

A customer nearby stared at them. Harry turned and glared at her and she backed off. He looked back to Rufus, who was fishing around in the case.

"I only ask, sir, because if a woman has nice teeth, she's much more apt to smile and attract attention to her ears."

That logic completely escaped Harry. He looked at his watch and sighed. He only had 5 minutes left here before he had to get back to the office.

"Ah, here we are, I think these will do nicely," Rufus said, standing up and putting a little box on the counter.

Harry examined the earrings. Rufus's ludicrous questions had actually served a purpose. The man knew his stuff – he'd picked out something amazing. They were elegant, large studs, undoubtedly very expensive, and perfect. Not ridiculous, but just flashy enough. For a second Harry could actually see them sparkling against Karen's face, catching the shine in her bright eyes. She'd love them.

"Brilliant," he said quietly, slightly amazed. "Right, erm, I'll have them."

"Excellent, sir," Rufus said. He took out an elegant blue jewelry box and carefully set the earrings inside. "Would you like gift wrap?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. An awful feeling of déjà vu swept over him. It was just as he opened his mouth and inhaled, about to say "Absolutely not," that he was struck by an idea.

"Yes," he said. "But we're doing it my way. No dried flowers, no holly, none of that nonsense."

"Fair enough, sir," Rufus said with a grin. "What did you have in mind?"

Harry handed him the bag from the department store he'd visited earlier and explained. Rufus followed his instructions to the letter, seeming almost indecently excited by this request. He set about grabbing shimmering clear gift-wrap and ribbons from the back while Harry located his cheque book.

"I have a second request," he said on impulse, when Rufus had reached the front.

"Sir?"

"I need an empty jewelry box and two cards."

"Yes, sir."

Rufus left and returned with a slightly larger blue box and two small white cards in envelopes, which he gave Harry free of charge. Harry put everything in his pocket and got started filling in the cheque. Rufus got going, cutting paper and ribbons at a reasonably quick pace. Just as he brought everything together at the top of the gift, it suddenly dawned on him why this man was getting a present _and_ an empty box. The box was a decoy. The idea amused him.

"Is your wife a peeker, sir?" he asked, as he started tying things off.

Harry looked up from the cheque and raised an eyebrow. Rufus had no idea of how well he'd hit the mark. "The worst. What's the damage?"

Rufus told him and he wrote out the large amount for the diamond earrings, wincing slightly as he did so. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Rufus finished up. The resulting present looked rather like a large red Christmas ornament, except that at the top was an explosion of clear plastic and gold and silver ribbons. Rufus fiddled with his work for a little bit, teasing the wrapping just so before attaching a small gift card.

"It's lovely, sir. What a marvelously creative idea. You don't mind if I use this with other customers, do you?"

Harry was surprised. He never considered himself the creative type. "Not at all." He tore off the cheque and handed it to Rufus.

"Thank you very much, sir. I do hope this gift turns out well."

"That makes two of us," he mumbled, clicking his pen and putting it away. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, sir," Rufus said. "Shall I put this in a bag, so you can carry it?"

Harry nodded. Rufus carefully put the fancily wrapped present into a store bag and handed it to him. With a quiet "thank you," Harry left and charged down the main corridor to the centre's entrance, his coat flapping out behind him a little. He had to catch a bus.

Back at the office, he said a quick hello to Sarah and headed to his own inner sanctum, where he took out the present and filled out the little attached gift card before stowing it safely in the bottom drawer of his desk. Just as he stood up, his stomach reminded him that he was overdue for lunch.

A few minutes later, Sarah was bored. She went into the break room, stretching her back as she walked. The sound of clanking things got her to hurry her pace, and she peeked in. Harry was prowling around looking for something to eat. She announced her presence with a cough; her boss looked up. He was holding a bagel in his mouth and it seemed that he had located a Styrofoam cup and a tea bag, but no water.

She found a pot and filled it.

"So … I take it you went shopping at the cen-tray rather than eat," she teased, taking the cup and bag from him.

Harry took the bagel from his mouth and set it down on a nearby paper plate. "It was the only chance I had,'" he explained, ignoring Sarah's pronunciation. She liked to say things like "cen-tray" and "thee-a-tray" every once in a while, just to annoy him. He found a plastic knife.

"What happened to your car, by the way?"

"Tyre trouble," he said evenly, slicing the bagel. "I'll have to call the shop. It's not drivable."

"That's no fun. I can give you a lift home, if you like."

Harry was not about to inconvenience her. "Sarah, you live on the opposite end of town. And don't you and Karl have something to do tonight?" He waggled his eyebrows.

To his surprise, Sarah didn't roll up the nearest magazine and smack him with it. She bit her lip instead. "We actually do. I can still help you out, though."

"That's very kind of you," Harry said sincerely, "But I'll be all right."

"Okay," she said in a sing-song, as though she didn't quite believe him. "By the way, I handed the calls that came in while you were at lunch, but uh, I think you'll have to be your own personal secretary for the rest of the day."

"How would that work?" Harry asked. He pulled open the sticky refrigerator door and began to search for the cream cheese. "'Thank you for calling, I'll put you through to myself?' People will think I've lost my mind."

Sarah started laughing. "I can have the secretary line put straight through to your phone."

"Fine," he said, finding the tub and prising it open. "Call downstairs and have them do it, but inform them that it's only temporary. Greg's coming in tomorrow."

"Greg?"

"Mia's replacement." He stopped for a moment, his knife in the tub. "That feels good to say."

Sarah smiled. "It's really a load off, huh? Well listen, I'm going to get back to work. But you'd better just grab something quick and man your desk. I think you have a meeting at three, and Accounting has been screaming at me to get those expense reports from you."

"Have they?" Harry said, scooping up some cream cheese.

"Wrestle them out of your cold dead hands, if necessary. Pillford's words."

Harry snorted, spreading the white stuff on the bagel. "Ooh, Pillford. Master of his numerical domain. I'm trembling."

Sarah giggled. "Hey, he sounded pretty serious."

"So am I. My knees are knocking, look."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm going to have that phone re-routed, so hurry up in here, okay?"

With a flash of red hair she was out the door, and Harry stayed behind to finish making his poor lunch. He chuckled. Life at work was officially back to normal, with the exception of his sedan. He wondered briefly if he should report what Mia did to the police – for he was fairly certain it was Mia – but that would mean involving her in his life again when he'd only just got rid of her, so he decided against it. Besides, he was feeling too good right now to think seriously about unpleasantness like that.

The water was boiling, so he poured himself a cup of herbal tea (it smelled like peppermint, but he wasn't sure), picked up his bagel, and went into his office to hunker down and survive the rest of the day.

At 5 o'clock, Harry was finally done. He leaned back in his chair, down to his shirtsleeves, and stared at the wall in a bit of a stupor. The meeting was over, Accounting had its reports, and he finally had a second to himself, which he used to call the local auto shop about getting his sedan towed and new tyres put on. They were all backed up, said the man on the other end. They wouldn't be able to help him today, dreadfully sorry about that, and would he consider calling again tomorrow?

Harry rang off with a sigh and set about packing up his briefcase. He filed some papers and cleaned up a bit, locating his hat, coat, and scarf in the process and laying them on his desk. As he did this, something in his coat clanked on the wood. He tugged on his sweater, fished around in his coat pocket, and realized he had one more thing to do before leaving the office.

It only took a couple of minutes to write both cards. One he shut inside the box, the other he taped to the top, and the whole thing went into his pocket. When he got home tonight all he had to do was hang up his coat and wait for his wife's insatiable curiosity to assert itself. A little self-satisfied smirk ticked onto his face as he pulled on his brown overcoat and beige scarf. If Karen allowed her natural inquisitiveness to rule her and peeked in his pocket, then this clever teaser would drive her completely bonkers until Christmas Day.

One last look around assured him he had everything, and he snagged his briefcase and grey fedora from the desk and left, turning off the lights behind him. Harry wasn't terribly thrilled about finding his way home on public transport. The destination was more important than the journey in this case, though. However winding the road, it would eventually get him back to his house and family and he could figure out an arrangement with Karen for tomorrow while his auto was being fixed. This was just another challenge, a small annoyance. Riding the train never hurt anybody.

* * *

A/N #2: I had to include Rufus in this. The scene where he tortures Harry with the gift-wrap is my absolute favorite in the entire movie. The _look_ on Harry's face… Oh, man. Hee hee! 


	4. Green Jacket

In this installment: Action! Excitement! Derring-do!

* * *

_Green Jacket_.

At half past five, the train rolled away from its third stop. Car C-3 was sparsely populated, especially considering the time of day. A mother with a colorful headscarf and an adorable ginger-haired little girl in her lap was cuddled in a corner. Four businessmen were having an animated discussion about West Ham's chances next week. An older woman nearby was minding her own business, knitting some unfortunate relative a hideous hat. Another businessman was sitting by himself, reading the newspaper. He had shucked his coat and hat due to the heat on the train. Some scruffy, scraggly fellow in a green jacket and baseball cap was dozing a few seats away. And an impeccably tailored, goofy-looking gentleman with buggy eyes was sitting next to the older woman, as engrossed in his crossword puzzle as she was in her needlework.

Joe Blake took all this in as he stepped on. He sat down heavily, took out _The DaVinci Code_, pulled his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and reveled in his anonymity. Everybody knew the outrageous aging rocker Billy Mack, but nobody would recognize his "fat manager" on a train. Joe's transmission had died earlier that day and his usual shop had been unable to help him, so it was public transport to the rescue.

The train rumbled slightly and they were on their way again. Unfortunately, they hadn't gone for thirty seconds when the radio announcer accidentally unleashed hell in the form of Billy's "smash hit" from last holiday, "Christmas is All Around."

The reaction was predictable. "Mummy, I hate that song!" the little redheaded girl shouted. "Can't they play something _good_?" The mother tried to quiet her. The older woman chuckled, muttering something about "being with the kid on that one." The crossword nut winced, but didn't look up. The huddle of businessmen moaned in chorus. And the lone businessman a few seats from them, a well-dressed fellow with square glasses and thinning brown hair, actually put his paper aside and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

Everyone was occupied with shielding themselves from the onslaught of that stupid tune, or complaining about it, or laughing like an idiot at the lot of them (Joe). Nobody noticed the man in the green jacket. He stood up and got to the rear of the train, so he was facing everybody and holding on to the standing pole.

Mercifully, the song ended a minute later, and everyone sighed in relief. "Let's hope we don't have to hear that for another year," the businessman with glasses rumbled in a pleasant bass.

The man in the green jacket steeled himself. This was going to work. There was just the right mix, just the right number, and just the right _type_ of people on this car. He'd been riding around waiting for this combination for the past three hours. A bunch of nancies (the businessmen and the crossword bloke), a "tired" (the lonely businessman), a fat guy, a mum, a sprog, and somebody's nana. Perfect.

"Right!" he yelled, pulling a gun from his pocket and holding it in the air. "This is a hold-up!"

All eyes were suddenly on him, some faces getting white in alarm. The older woman screamed. The man pointed his gun at her. "You, you, you, and you two!" he shouted at her, the crossword man, the fat guy, and the mum/sprog combination. Get to the other side of the train! And you assholes!" he shouted at all five stunned businessmen. "Hands up! Anybody who reaches for his mobile gets his head blown off! MOVE! NOW!"

Harry was stunned. This was ridiculous. Hadn't this raver been napping next to him a few minutes ago? What the hell was going on? He looked across, slowly putting his hands up, and watched as the mother with her child dashed over and huddled in the corner. One of the other businessmen put his arm around her, although he clearly didn't know her. The kid was hiding her face in her mum's blouse, and Harry was hit by a sudden memory of Daisy doing the same thing when she was very small during a rather traumatizing funhouse experience in Brighton.

Some portly gentleman followed her warily, and he was followed by … Rufus? Yes, Jesus Christ, it was Rufus, from the flipping mall. How surreal. And now the man in the green jacket was hollering at the old woman, who was seated directly across from him. She was trying to stand, and not managing it fast enough.

"Please … my hip … I can't …"

"MOVE, DAMN IT!"

Something was boiling up inside him. A train full of people was about to get robbed at gunpoint and since they had all seen the thief's face, it was very likely that he wouldn't leave witnesses. Harry made a decision right then, one that spread an eerie calm all the way through him, loosening his limbs and pumping his blood around faster.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Nana, come on! I haven't got all day!"

The thief turned his back on Harry's side of the car and made as though to grab the woman's arm. It was only a moment, but that moment was enough.

Quick as a shot, with a speed that surprised everybody (including himself) Harry launched himself at the man in the green jacket. The thief noticed the movement too late. Harry tackled him, brutally slamming his face against the nearest window, inches away from the panicking elderly woman who was screaming in earnest and trying to shield herself. He ignored this and knocked the would-be robber's nose against the glass, which generated some colorful obscenities and a flailing leg.

Hanging on to his opponent and putting his full weight on him, Harry tilted his head at the car and roared, "Somebody call the police!"

The businessmen flipped open their mobiles almost in unison. The rest of the passengers could only watch as Harry grabbed the bloke's wrist and slammed it against the window, again and again, until the thief lost his grip on the gun and it landed in the elderly woman's lap. Joe ran over and nabbed it. With slightly shaking arms, he aimed it at the two struggling men.

Then the thief wiggled one leg, tripping Harry up and using that moment of unbalance to knock him aside. He bolted to the nearest exit. Everything was going to hell. "Tired" was not so tired after all, and now his gun was gone. The fat guy had it trained on him from down the car. The barrel was wobbling slightly.

Harry noticed this then looked back at the thief, who was staring disconsolately at the door. It would not be opening any time soon. The train had at least ten more painful minutes to its next stop, where there would undoubtedly be a police car waiting to take him away. He was trapped.

"Give it up, jackass. It's over," Harry snarled, with a lot more courage than he felt. He was breathing hard. "Just sit down and wait."

The thief was not going to sit down and wait. He closed his eyes, made a decision, and went with it.

"Raaagh!"

And just like that he threw himself at Harry, who barely had enough time to yelp in surprise before they went down in a heap in the middle of the car, wrestling around and shouting at each other. Joe, stunned at this turn of events, handed Rufus the gun and charged over to help.

Bad idea. Rufus was absolutely incompetent with a gun and scared out of his mind. He'd never held a weapon in his life and now here he was, trapped in this complete nightmare when he was just trying to get home to his cat Muffy, holding this lethal cold metal thing in his hand and watching helplessly.

"Give it up!" somebody shouted at somebody suddenly, goosing Rufus.

He pulled the trigger.

The gun was pointed at the roof and the bullet went clear through, not striking anything or anybody. It didn't matter. Everyone lost their heads, convinced they were going to die.

"Please calm down, it's all right! Nobody's going to get shot!" Rufus said, trying to comfort. Unfortunately he was waving the gun around like a wild man as he said this. Now people were ducking while they screamed. Hardly an improvement.

The middle of the car was faring little better. The elderly woman had armed herself with her handbag and was smacking anything that came near her during the furious wrestling match on the filthy floor. She'd already gotten a good shot off on the thief, but she'd also clocked Joe a few times, so he repositioned himself. The thief was struggling like a cornered dog and Harry, using only his will power and a few wrestling moves he learned in college twenty years ago, was having a very hard time pinning him down.

Joe got on all fours and tried to grab the thief's legs. He was quickly kicked in the face for his trouble and sat back on his ample rear end, clutching his bleeding nose and cursing creatively. Harry and the thief came too close to the old woman again, and she lashed out with her handbag, aiming for the thief of course. She caught poor Harry right in the face. His glasses were knocked clear off his nose and they went flying across the car. Momentarily blinded and dizzy from the blow, his grip weakened.

Rufus dropped the gun on the nearest seat, pocketed Harry's glasses, and ran over to do … something. He wasn't sure what. It was impossible to make sense of the bellowing tangle of bodies on the floor. He finally just plunged in and got an arm around one of the thief's legs. Joe grabbed the other. The thief went bananas at being restrained so, yelling like a lunatic and twisting just enough to bring everybody down in a cursing, squawking heap.

It was a hell of a ruckus, but after a minute or so, it seemed the thief was finally giving up. Harry panted as he lay there on his side, one leg over the thief, holding him in some absurd parody of an embrace. His hair was all over the place and he blew some of it out of his eyes. Wondering where his glasses went, he looked away for a half-second to squint myopically across the floor.

And then it happened.

The thief moved his hand under his green jacket. There was a flash of silver and Harry cried out. Joe had no idea why the businessman had done this, but the distraction was brilliant. He snaked his arm in for the kill. Nose bleeding freely, he grabbed the thief by the hair and slammed his head into the floor, knocking him senseless. He stopped moving. It seemed the excitement was finally over.

Rufus wiggled out from under Joe and part of Harry, and dusted himself off. Joe found his pocket handkerchief and pressed it to his nose calmly like he was used to this sort of thing. And Harry somehow managed to stand, even though he was a bit dizzy and a bright pain was blossoming in his left leg. He backed off a step and knocked into the standing pole.

For a moment all was still. Harry looked around at the people in the car, who were looking back at him in varying degrees of shock, and the gathered crowd shared a brief moment of peace. Those who had been panting for breath and clutching their shirts were sighing and relaxing. The mother was comforting her small girl. The older woman looked rather grateful.

And then Rufus noticed Harry. His protuberant eyes wide, he gaped for a few seconds before his mouth managed to catch up with his brain. "My God! Call an ambulance!" he shouted.

In remarkably quick time, he was standing next to Harry, throwing one arm around him and making as though to steady him.

"Call an ambulance!" Rufus repeated at the car. "Now!"

"One's coming," said a businessman, waving his mobile. "The police are meeting us at the next stop, and the paramedics will be there too. It's standard. What's all this fuss? I thought you blokes had this under control!"

Harry too was wondering what the fuss was about. He was completely baffled why Rufus had said this, and also why he was suddenly being supported on both sides, for the other man (the one with the bloody nose) had just come over to assist.

Then he looked down at his trousers. A rather impressive stain was blooming on the fabric over his left thigh and there, sitting calmly in the middle of it, was the polished wooden handle of a knife. Even with all this new information it took Harry a couple of seconds to figure out what had happened.

He'd been stabbed. He was too stunned to even curse.

Rufus and Joe helped Harry hop over to the nearest seat, which coincidentally was his own. One member of the quartet of businessmen picked up his clothes and briefcase and held them, so he had a little room to put his leg up on the seat.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Sir, let me help you," Rufus said, taking off his scarf. "I'll bind that until help arrives."

Harry was skeptical about submitting himself to Rufus's dubious notion of proper first aid, but there was no choice. He watched as Rufus took off his scarf and wrapped it around the wound, which was nice but probably not very helpful, and handed Harry his glasses. Harry put them on. Then Rufus started fiddling with the scarf compulsively, trying to get the winding just right.

Harry weakly slapped his hand away. "You and your bloody gift wrap obsession. Cut it out."

Things were going a little fuzzy even with his glasses on, but he noted this fleetingly. The adrenaline from the fight was starting to wear off. His leg was throbbing. The car bumped along. Rufus and the bloody nose man were talking to each other, but their voices were blending into the general conversation and speculation in the train, and Harry couldn't be arsed about any of it.

Now Rufus was turning to him and saying something. Harry blinked at him.

"Sir?" Rufus was looking worried, now. "Sir, can you repeat the last thing I said?"

Harry stared mutely at Rufus. He didn't feel "fuzzy" anymore. He felt dizzy and cold and slightly sick. The world was going grey at the edges. Rufus took his wrist and felt for a pulse.

"He's going into shock. Hand me his coat," he ordered the nearby businessman.

The old woman had finally reached a standing position. She calmly stepped over the unconscious thief to help out. Joe lumbered over and grabbed the gun; he sat down and trained it on the man on the floor.

"He's in shock? We're _all_ in shock, I think," the old woman said. She sounded rattled.

Harry was quickly bundled up, no thanks to his own wobbly hands. The old woman was marginally helpful, but Rufus did most of the work. Even after he was done, he kept fussing with Harry's clothes ridiculously, brushing lint from the waist of his overcoat, but Harry had no energy to tell him to bugger off. Someone with OCD that manifested itself in wrapping paper had just used him for a first aid dummy, and somebody's well-meaning grandmother had put his hat on backwards. The tag was tickling his forehead. Harry turned it around just to give himself something to do and his shaking arm unintentionally cocked the brim at a jaunty angle.

Rufus looked at the businessman. He was pale and clammy. His eyes had gone glassy and faraway. Also his hat was on crooked, but he seemed to like it like that so Rufus didn't touch it.

"Shouldn't we take the dife out?" Joe asked from across the car.

"That's probably a bad idea," Rufus replied, with unusual insight. "We might do him even more damage than the thief did." He turned to Harry. "Sir, an ambulance is meeting us at the next stop. We'll get you to hospital straight away. Don't even look at the knife. Happy thoughts, now."

Harry stared at him.

The next few minutes passed in tense silence, and the pain in Harry's leg ratcheted up another notch. By the time the train came to a stop, he was concentrating fiercely on the standing pole and focusing all his energy on remaining conscious and upright. The world had gone completely wonky, like he was looking at it from the inside of a fishbowl. Finally, with agonizing slowness, a hiss of steam and a bump announced they were stationary. There were flashing lights outside the door. Two policemen stepped in and immediately made for the thief, one accepting the gun from Joe, and the other clapping the cuffs on and hauling the robber to his feet, just as he came around with the groan. He was led away. Several people cheered.

A plain-looking woman with mousy hair and sharp eyes hopped onto the train. She wore a black uniform and carried a very large first aid bag. "Anybody injured?"

"Yes, over here!" Rufus said. The paramedic headed straight over, Joe right behind her, just as the remaining officer started to ask the train at large what happened.

"Oh my," said the paramedic when she saw Harry's leg. "Sir, we can't waste time getting a gurney in here. Can you make it to the ambulance?"

Harry managed a nod. His face was paper white. Rufus and Joe hefted him up and helped him stumble off the train. Just as they got out through the door and into the bitterly cold night, they heard the mother making a statement for one of the police officers.

"And then what happened?" he asked.

"Those three men saved our lives."

Harry was nearly out of steam. He hung in just long enough to hop through the snow and into the waiting ambulance, parked next to two police cars. The paramedic and her partner took over from Rufus and Joe, hoisting Harry in so he could sit on the gurney. The partner helped him lie flat and threw a blanket over him.

"Cheers, you two," the first medic said. "Right, mister, let me look at your nose."

"I'b okay," Joe said. "S'not broked."

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. Instead she tossed him a little blue pouch. "Take a cold pack at least. Tip your head up and bang that on for a minute at a time."

Joe nodded. Rufus looked on a little mournfully as the ambulance prepared to go. The police officers were heading their way, probably needing a statement.

"We'll take good care of him," the first paramedic assured Rufus. "Thanks for your help … and your bravery, too. Step back, please." And the ambulance doors swung to.

"Oh dear," Rufus said, as the car sped away, lights whirling and siren blaring.

"Whud?" Joe answered.

"Just realized I'll never see that scarf again. Ah well, no matter. It served its purpose." He bundled his coat tighter around himself and adjusted his gloves.

The police officers offered to give them a ride to the station so they could make their statements, and then take them home. Rufus and Joe readily accepted and got in the back of one police car. The thief was in the other. They settled in, shut the door, and fastened their seatbelts. Just beyond them, the train doors closed and it went on its way.

"You doh, that bloke what got it in the leg – he sodded for a bubbet there like he dew you," Joe commented, tipping his head back as the paramedic had recommended and pressing the cold pack to his swollen nose.

"Diamond earrings," Rufus confirmed, brushing some lint off his lapel. "I sold him a pair today. Apparently his patience with gift-wrap has its limits," he remarked with some amusement. "I am not offended, however. I'm quite positive that all that bluster was the shock talking."

Joe cracked a weak smile in return. "Ub courz," he said. The police car rumbled to life and they were off.


	5. White Card

In this installment: The results of the aforementioned derring-do. :-(

* * *

_White Card_.

Karen was on her third cup of tea when the phone rang. Dinner had been over for an hour. She checked the clock – seven thirty. It was Harry, she reasoned. It had to be. He'd been kept behind at work; he was calling to apologize. He'd be home soon.

She set down her mug and picked it up just as Daisy came bounding in.

"Is it Dad?" she asked.

"I don't know, darling. Hello?"

Daisy bounced on her toes nearby, getting just close enough for her mum to cup her head and smooth down her hair. Then quite suddenly the hand on her head stopped moving. Daisy noticed the change and looked up. Mum was white to the lips.

"Thank you, I'll be right there." She hung up the phone and looked down. "Daisy, go get your coat and find that misfit brother of yours. You're spending the night at Grandma and Grampa's."

Daisy was puzzled. "Why?"

"Don't argue dear," Karen said softly. "Go on."

She shooed Daisy out, grabbed the phone, and hit speed dial three. "Mum? Hi, I need your help. Something's happened. Can you take the kids for tonight?"

Forty frantic minutes after that call, Karen blew into a hospital reception area. The wind outside helped her in a bit. Between her fluffy coat and wispy hair and wide eyes, she looked like a small frightened bird. She marched straight up to the desk.

"Hello, may I help you?" said the receptionist.

"Yes. My name is Karen Stretter. I'm looking for my husband, Harry. Someone from the hospital called me, and said he'd been stabbed on a train. I'm hoping it's a mistake."

"No mistake, ma'am. He's back there, in emergency," she said, and handed Karen her husband's overcoat, very neatly folded with sharp corners. His scarf lay folded on top of that, and his fedora rested atop both, with his sharp rectangular glasses sitting on the brim like a bizarre little bow. "The rest of his things are in a bag. You can get them later."

Karen accepted the clothes without a word. The sight of them had blown language right out of her for the moment.

"Just have a seat there," said the receptionist. "I'll page a doctor and someone will come out when they have news."

Karen sat down in the nearly empty waiting area. After ten anxious minutes, she set Harry's hat and glasses beside her and unfolded his coat so she could more comfortably hold it. A corner poked her – something was in Harry's coat pocket. Curious, she pulled it out, revealing a pretty blue gift box from the jewelers with a white card taped on top.

"Oh no," she said and her voice cracked.

Panic overtook her. Another box. Another necklace. Another woman.

Her stomach sank and cramped and she tried to distract herself with questions. Where was the doctor? Where was that idiot husband of hers? How had he managed to get himself stabbed on a train? What had he been doing on a train in the first place? And why the _hell_ was this box in his pocket? Oh God, it was last year all over again. It was another stupid thing for Mia, she decided. Something tiny snapped in her chest, and she gripped the front of her coat very hard and put her head down. What an awful way to find out that her husband really was in love with someone else. She crossed her arms, looked angrily at the box, and decided she wouldn't read the card in the envelope. It just wasn't worth the pain.

But the minutes ticked by and there was no word. There was nothing but Karen and the waiting area, and Harry's coat, and the box. She chewed her lip and kneaded her forehead and groaned as her curiosity got the better of her. With brutal motions she ripped the envelope apart and opened the card, determined to be disgusted.

_My dearest Karen_, it said. She almost dropped it.

_Light and love of my life, my queen, my goddess, my everything, etcetera etcetera:_

_NO BLOODY PEEKING._

She gasped out a half laugh even as a tear bloomed, but couldn't find the strength to still her hand; she opened the box. Inside, instead of a gift, was another card. She wiped her eyes and opened that.

_Scary how well I know you, isn't it? Don't even **try** to look for your present because I have hidden it where you won't ever find it. Rest assured though, that you will receive it on Christmas morning, and that it is not a Joni Mitchell CD. God knows I learned my lesson from last year. _

_By the way, we must talk about this dreadful peeking habit of yours … among other things._

_XOXO_

Her husband had signed his name with his trademark block printing. Karen sat stock still for a moment and tried very hard to erase all the horrible things she'd just assumed. She put the card and box back in Harry's pocket and then quietly fell apart, sobbing into her hands, secure in the knowledge that no one would bother her. There was nobody around and the receptionist couldn't give a toss about some crying middle-aged woman twenty feet away.

"Mrs. Stretter?" It was the doctor, who had appeared out of nowhere. He startled her.

She stood up. "Yes?" she said, wiping her eyes and sniffing, trying to pull herself together. "Is my husband all right?"

The doctor smiled. "He is." Then he noticed Karen's red eyes. She pulled some Kleenex from her pocket and blew her runny nose. "Erm, I don't know what you've been told …"

"All … All I know is someone stabbed him."

The doctor nodded, back on solid ground. "The paramedics told me what happened. He did a very brave thing, ma'am. He helped to apprehend a would-be thief on the train, and in the commotion the assailant stabbed him in the thigh. He slipped into shock and he lost a bit of blood, but fortunately all he sustained was some soft tissue damage. We cleaned out the wound and patched him up. He's going to be just fine."

Karen, relieved beyond words, bowed her head.

The doctor gently put a hand on her shoulder. "I have to tell you, your husband was ridiculously lucky. A few millimeters to the left, and the knife would have severed an artery. It was a very near miss."

"I'll be sure to tell him that," she said, wiping her eyes again. "May I see him?"

"Of course. Come with me."

Karen picked up Harry's things and followed the doctor. They walked through the double doors and into the ER, which was strangely calm. She flinched under the glare of the fluorescent lights.

"We have him in one of the curtain areas. He has an i.v. in with antibiotics and something for the pain."

"Pain?" Karen asked. The coat she carried smelled profoundly like her husband and she suddenly couldn't spare much attention for the doctor.

"Yes ma'am. We had to knock him out and poke around in there before we closed up the wound; it was pretty deep. He got the 'good stuff,' as we like to call it. He'll be a little loopy when he comes around, just to warn you."

They'd stopped at a curtain. The doctor pulled it open without preamble and there was Harry, flat on his back, out like a light and looking deceptively peaceful under a blanket. His color was slightly off. His left leg was elevated by a pillow under his knee, and a little tube was running under his nose. The i.v. was dripping into his right hand. Karen held his coat very tightly to herself.

"We'll keep him overnight for observation and release him tomorrow around noon."

"May I stay with him?"

"Certainly."

"Thank you," Karen said sincerely.

She stood there for a moment, staring almost as if she were watching this on the telly, until the doctor went away. Once she was alone, she drew the curtain back for privacy and laid Harry's heavy coat over his legs and feet. It didn't look like they'd given him enough covers. He was only wearing a gown and it was freezing in here. She tossed his hat onto the bed carelessly. It landed with a flump. She held onto his glasses as she pushed the visitor's chair over up against the rail, then plopped herself down and reached under the covers for his left hand, finally finding it only to discover that his skin was nearly as cold as his wedding ring. She tsked at this and began to rub his hand and arm a bit to encourage some blood flow. Hopefully the coat would warm him up a little.

The realization was sudden and unpleasant. She couldn't recall the last time she'd done this – reached for him. The idea startled her.

Once Karen had gotten his hand to warm up a little she closed her eyes, expecting to be in for a long night in the chair. She hadn't dozed for five minutes though, before something twitched in her grip. She snapped awake. Another twitch. She kept a gentle hold of the twitching thing and stood up so she was leaning down over the bed rail.

Harry was awake … maybe. He was blinking, but it was obvious he wasn't focusing well. It looked like he was trying to swim to the surface of a lake. One of his eyelids seemed to be stuck at half-mast. Undeterred by this, Karen put his glasses on him so he could at least have a shot at making visual contact.

"Harry?" she asked cautiously. "Darling, look at me."

It took him a few seconds, but he managed it. The wayward eyelid got itself in line. "Karen." He squeezed her hand and sighed. "Thank God. Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't," Karen said softly. She brushed some hair off his forehead. "Oh, Harry." She stopped then, unsure of what to do. Throwing her arms around him was out – she didn't want to accidentally injure him further. Yelling at him for being such an idiot was out, as well – he was too doped up to pay attention. She sighed.

Ironically enough, it was her normally reserved and reticent husband who rescued the situation. "Karen, I have to tell you something. And … I have to say it … before anything else ridiculous happens to me."

Karen smiled. "Okay. I'm listening." Here was her quiet, stoic Harry on painkillers, emotionally defenseless with absolutely no filter. This was going to be interesting.

"Are you sure? Because iz really important," he slurred.

Karen did her best not to laugh. "Yes, I am absolutely listening, dear. Go ahead."

"All right," Harry acquiesced. "Karen, I love you. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He looked absolutely honest, like he was holding nothing back. It was amazing how expressive he was in his sadness. Some wall inside him had been shaken down by the drugs. He was staring deeply into her eyes (or perhaps through her head – she wasn't quite sure) and clutching her hand.

It didn't take a great brain to figure out what Harry was referring to. Karen sighed. She was not ready for this conversation. In fact, she doubted she ever would be. They'd stepped around it for a year after all, and she'd mostly put it out of her mind, until tonight. She smoothed her husband's tousled hair back again and tried to ignore what he'd just said by taking in the details of his face – those soulful eyes set against pale skin, the nice if unremarkable jawline, those thin lips, that adorably prominent, slightly crooked nose.

"I love you too, darling," she said quietly, ignoring his apology for the moment. "I always will." She leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead. The contact felt ludicrous. Foreign. When she came up, Harry was looking at her with some surprise. It had just been too long since they had touched each other this way. Little things like this felt alarmingly new.

She did love Harry. She did. And she definitely believed he was sorry. But with him doped up like this, it was just too tempting. She had to ask … even if the answer killed her.

"Harry?"

"Mm?"

"What happened between you and Mia?"

Harry looked very depressed at this question. "Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing happened. Nothing. She took the necklace. And then you told me off, with good reason. I did … a terrible, stupid thing. Surprised you didn't throw me out."

Karen had no idea what to say to this. She settled for smoothing his hair back. Harry didn't seem to notice her silence.

"I transferred Mia. She came back."

"I know." Karen _did_ know. Sarah had kept her up-to-date on this particular issue.

"I hated every second of it," Harry revealed. "Hid in my office last week … to avoid her."

"Shh-shh-shh-shh," Karen breathed, trying to quiet him without laughing. After all the stress she'd just been through and now seeing him here, stoned out of his gourd but otherwise okay, his admission amused her rather more than it should have.

"But I finally did something right," he said. It sounded like he was lobbying desperately for some clarity. "I gave her the sack."

Karen stared at him in shock. "What? When?"

"This morning. I think she slashed my tyres in revenge. Not sure, though. Can't be sure."

Whatever clarity he'd captured was flitting away. "Darling, you're babbling."

"Don't care," Harry grunted. His thoughts seemed to have taken another sudden left. "S'all your fault anyway."

Karen raised an eyebrow in amusement. "What's my fault?"

"You beeked in my pluddy … my coat pocket. If you hadn't looked in my bloody coat pocket last year, none of this … shite would have happened. Man neez his secrets," he finished, sounding a little irritated.

The other eyebrow joined the first. "I beg your pardon."

Karen had dipped dangerously into her chest voice. She ignored for the moment that her husband was obviously drugged to the gills and treated his asinine argument like it meant something.

"Yes, all right, I peeked in your pocket. But that does not negate or excuse the fact that you gave a very expensive piece of jewelry to _another woman_, Harry!" she scolded.

"I know," he groaned. "God, I know! I was an arse. But she was just so … I dunno."

Karen decided she had to know exactly what Mia was, so she switched tactics. She leaned in close and smoothed his hair back, over and over again, until he actually hummed a little with pleasure. Harry, despite his quiet demeanor and occasional bouts of grumpiness, responded remarkably well to touch. Perhaps if she kept petting him, he'd keep talking. She winced at exploiting this weakness but plowed on.

"What? What was she, Harry?" she crooned. She hated herself.

"Sexy," he slurred. "Also … she was a slut. She sat there … in that ugly office chair … and opened her legs just a little bit … and offered me everything. Said so in my ear … when we danced at the party. All I had to get her was … something she wanted."

Karen had stopped hating herself. She had successfully redirected her hatred at Mia. That girl had brass, playing with another woman's man, trying to catch Harry and blindside him and bring those considerable Stretter defenses down.

"So I did."

Karen worked her jaw for a moment. "Why?" she finally asked.

"She wanted me. … And you don't."

The statement came as such a shock that Karen actually made one of those "ukuh" noises.

"What? Harry, that's not true. Of course I want you."

"No you don't," he insisted. His voice was barely audible now, and his face was blank. "First … you were tired. Then … you had headaches. And since Mia … every time I touch you … you turn over and face the other way."

"Harry."

Things were crumbling inside her. Mostly assumptions. She couldn't believe this.

"Don't … 'Harry' me," he said. "I get it. I'm old … and saggy … and grumpy. I don't blame you."

His eyes were sliding shut; he was going under, drowning in whatever cocktail they were pumping into him. It occurred to Karen almost too late that their talk was not ending well. She had only precious seconds to correct that.

"Harry, look at me." He dragged his sleepy gaze towards her, and she cupped his face in her hands. "I happen to think you're very handsome. And you probably won't remember this in the morning but … I forgive you, darling."

To her great surprise, she realized she meant it.

"We all make mistakes. Just mind you don't make that one again. Now go to sleep, that's it. I'll be here when you wake up."

She leaned down and kissed him again, this time on the lips, and stayed for a little while. By the time she'd pulled away his eyes were closed and his breathing was even.

Karen hung her head and sat down heavily in the chair, taking his hand again. Harry had exaggerated slightly about the 'turning over' thing, but there it was. Raging insecurity was the reason behind this whole ridiculous mess. It never occurred to her that he could have such issues about his appearance or his appeal – she assumed she had a monopoly on that. Granted, their sex life hadn't been that great for the past few years, what with her running around after the kids all day and him working all the time. It almost made sense that he would take it personally. She hadn't really made anything clear to him, she suddenly realized and honestly, what else was he supposed to think? It gave her rather a lot to chew on. There would be plenty of time later to harangue her husband for trying to act the hero on a commuter train. She had too much else in her head right now: his motivations, Mia's behavior and, jammed in there with everything else, a possible explanation of what he'd been doing on mass transit in the first place.

On a rational level she dismissed Harry's nutty hypothesis about his ersatz secretary slashing his tyres. But on a purely emotional level she hoped Mia had done it, just so she could catch her somewhere and box her ears, maybe shake the younger woman violently and howl at her for all the misery she'd caused. If only Harry had never hired her in the first place. If only he hadn't been entranced by her charms. If only she hadn't taken the sack so badly. Karen imagined a different Harry for a moment: one who was home right now, safe and sound, perhaps groggy from a leftover turkey sandwich she'd made him and still diligently looking over some reports on the couch, not belly-up in some hospital bed. She looked over at her husband. He snored.

Karen smiled. She had a mother to call, and an office to call, and fresh clothes to fetch, and come morning, some forms to sign. She had a frozen turkey to buy and some last-minute presents to find. But for now she had to sit here and rest beside this man. She closed her eyes.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I made up a last name for Karen and Harry. Come on, I had to! Just imagine Karen's exchange with the receptionist if I hadn't:

"_Hello, may I help you?"_

"_Yes. My name is Karen. I don't have a surname, but I'm the Prime Minister's sister, and my husband is called Harry. He wears glasses and has a very interesting voice. Is he here?" _

_A few hours later Karen woke up in the mental ward, groaning and miserable, pinned down in five point restraints. _

For Nitpickers: I rented the Love Actually DVD. In one of the deleted scenes ("Bernie's Christmas Wish," which was OMG T3H AWESOME) the headmistress talks to Karen and calls her Mrs. Williams. Then when she's alone with her cancer-stricken lover, she refers to Karen as Mrs. Taylor. I figured if the character couldn't even keep it straight, I'd just make up my own name.


	6. Brown Bag

_Brown Bag._

Harry properly woke up around ten the next morning, achy and tired and slightly cold. He was in hospital, he realized, flat on his back. Something was beeping nearby – a machine of some kind. He managed to turn his head and discovered Karen sitting in a chair next to his bed, holding his hand. This lifted his spirits quite pleasantly for maybe two minutes until Karen opened her eyes and noticed he was awake. He smiled. She didn't return it. She dropped his hand like a hot stone and went away, returning a minute later with the doctor right behind her.

The doctor examined Harry, prodding his leg repeatedly and asking questions, mostly of the "Does this hurt?" variety. It did most of the time, and the wound itself looked gross and not promising. It was black and blue and terribly swollen, mostly due to the "poking around" of the doctors, and the jagged cut had been sewn shut with two layers of stitches – one of them beneath the skin. The doctor said those would dissolve on their own, but the top layer would need to be removed. He ordered Harry to come back in two weeks to have them out, and to massage the area every day to prevent scar tissue from forming in the meantime. The doctor pressed a few buttons and elevated the head of his bed so he could sit up a bit and left.

A police officer came in right on the doctor's heels and took Harry's statement. Harry figured the man had a hearing problem, since he was forced to repeat himself at least three times while Karen stood in the background, arms crossed, silent. The fog was clearing, now. Karen looked ready to spit tacks and he couldn't blame her. He rather wished he hadn't been forced to explain everything in front of his wife. His actions sounded incredibly stupid and reckless in hindsight.

As soon as the officer left he looked at Karen warily, wondering what she was going to do. She very calmly pulled the curtain shut to give the illusion of privacy. Then she stalked over to his bed, planted her hands on either side of his shoulders, leaned right over him so there was no escaping her angry gaze, and let him have it. That last experience was by far the most painful of the morning. His wife started off reasonably coherent, but Harry was quickly left adrift in a hurricane of sentence fragments, wincing every once in a while and clinging desperately to a mental tree ("I love this woman, I really do") while she stormed at him.

"If you'd just thought … Used your brain for one second … What were you _thinking_? … Never in my life … Could have been _killed_ … Daisy was asking questions … Playing bloody Batman on a commuter train – do you have any idea the _hell_ you put me through? … The hospital called, told me you'd been stabbed and didn't even tell me _where_ … Had to drop the kids at Mum's … Prayed they wouldn't just point me at the Morgue when I got here … You thoughtless fucking _IDIOT_!"

It was an emotional tsunami. Karen only stopped screaming at him at the end because she was crying too hard. Harry, seeing an opening, pulled her against him so her head was resting on his chest and held her tight while she sobbed.

"Here all night…" she said, muffled against his hospital gown. "Don't know _what_ to tell the children…"

"Shh." He rubbed her back and blinked at the wall, his face a tense mask. He didn't blame her for this, not one bit. If their positions had been reversed, he knew he'd be doing the exact same thing, albeit in a deeper voice with a more liberal sprinkling of curse words and much less eye leakage.

Karen sniffled wetly. "… I was so scared."

"I know," Harry whispered, and he really did. He kept rubbing her, hoping it would help her calm down. She was already much improved from before.

"You can't do this again. You won't get lucky twice and if you die, I don't think I can survive it. Please, Harry."

Harry moved one hand to her feathery hair. "On my honor, I won't. May I say one thing?"

Karen had run out of gas for the moment. She snorted with laughter and sniffed. "Yes, you may."

Harry caught the smile in her voice and relaxed his grip on her a little bit. "I'm no hero. I didn't sit down on that train with the idea that I was going to be a vigilante and right some wrong. I swear to God, I was just trying to get home."

"I know you were," Karen said, pulling away slightly and wiping her eyes. "I know you didn't go looking for trouble, but I so wish you hadn't found it. And as for you not being a hero … well, that's debatable."

She gave him a tiny smile, a real one, and Harry knew he was safe for the moment. He smiled back and released her.

"Now," Karen said, reaching for her purse on the chair and pulling out her mobile, "You need to call the office and tell them you won't be in, and I'll get started harassing the doctors so we can get you out of this icebox and back home where you belong."

She had slipped into Mummy Mode – that was what Harry called it in his head when she started gently organizing the life of everyone around her – and it relieved him so much that all he could do was nod dumbly and accept the phone.

Karen ran around gathering his bag of clothes (she was dismayed to see that the doctors had destroyed a perfectly good pair of his trousers to treat him) and used the desk phone to ring her mum to give her the news and beg her to take the kids for a few more hours while she got Harry settled at home. Harry meanwhile rang the office. He got Sarah on the phone and explained what had happened.

"Oh my God. That was _you_?" she said.

That didn't bode well. Harry gathered his wits a little. "Sorry?"

"Harry, it's all over the news! They didn't get your name – the police didn't give it to the journalists – so you're just 'an unidentified London businessman.' They interviewed the other two guys from the incident and they were both saying you took the guy down first, they couldn't have done it without you, blah blah blah. It was nuts!"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sarah, I need you to do me a huge favor. When you get off the phone with me and tell people I'm not coming in, make something up about my leg."

Sarah laughed. "Like what?"

"Anythingyou like – just not the truth. I certainly don't want recognition and Karen … I don't even want to think about what she would do if this went public."

"Say no more, boss. Your secret's safe with me. I'll tell everybody you slipped on some ice and skidded into one of those sharp iron fences. My cousin did that once a long time ago – he messed himself up pretty badly. Are you allowed up, by the way? I mean, we only have a couple of work days left before Christmas, but can you show up for any of them?"

Harry sighed. "I don't think so. I'm supposed to be in bed for two days, and the doctors said to take it easy for a week afterwards."

"Darn. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we really need you on some things, and they have to be done by Christmas. What if I swing by the house with your laptop today, say one o'clock, and you can be 'on call,' so to speak?"

"That would be fine." It dawned on him then that he would not be back to work until at least after Christmas. "Oh, and Sarah, I must ask another favor. While you're in my office, I need you to pick up something else."

* * *

They pulled up at the house at a quarter to one, and Harry noticed Sarah get out of a car parked on the street. He pointed this out to Karen, who was at the wheel. Karen turned and waved cheerfully, then turned back to Harry.

"What is she doing here?"

"She's bringing my laptop. I'll be working from home until Christmas."

Karen sighed. "The doctors said you weren't to exert yourself."

"Yes, but I'll go mad with nothing to do. You know me."

A wry smile. "Yes, I certainly do. All right you, on your way. Here are your crutches."

"Where's the linen?" Harry asked, accepting the crutches and opening the door.

"Back seat, I'll get it."

Harry unfolded himself from the car. He was a bit unsteady on the crutches, bundled in his hat and coat over a shirt and sweater and a pair of hospital pyjama bottoms that Karen had located. Sarah came bustling over, carrying a huge brown paper bag, and helped Karen by holding the bag of linen while she opened the front door. Harry was limping along ridiculously slowly. The women finally looked at each other in dismay and went over to help, supporting him into the house and helping him hobble over to the couch. He sat down heavily. Sarah shut the door.

"I was more tired than I thought," Harry mumbled.

"Which is why you need to _rest_," Karen said rather pointedly. "I'll get upstairs and fix the bed. You wait here."

She thumped up the stairs. Harry was left alone with his American assistant. "Sarah, one more favor."

Sarah smiled. "Sure."

"You have it?"

She nodded and held up the brown bag, which crinkled a little. "Right here."

"Brilliant. Walk down the hallway to the right of the stairs. Just past the staircase on the left is Bernie's bedroom. Airplanes everywhere, you can't miss it. Put that in his closet, top shelf, all the way to the right. Hurry."

Sarah, grinning now, took off like a rabbit and got back with the bag just in time. Karen was coming down the stairs. Sarah laid the laptop on the coffee table.

"Well, I think I'll be off." She bent down to where Harry was sitting.

"This is from everybody at the office," she said, and gave him a big hug, then a peck on the cheek. "Everything's on the computer – just get started and give me call if you have any questions. Although, when I call you back, it might charge long distance."

"Oh, why?"

"Well …" Sarah was blushing. "Karl and I will be telecommuting a little bit. He surprised me today – we're leaving tomorrow for Italy. We'll be in Rome for Christmas."

"Isn't that where his family lives?" Harry asked.

Sarah nodded. Karen smiled like a doting aunt and gave her a hug. "Oh how lovely! Well, have a terrific time, dear."

"I will. Okay, stay out of trouble. Especially you," she quipped at Harry. "Merry Christmas!"

They both wished her the same and she left. Karen locked the door behind her, rolled up her sleeves, and turned to her husband with some amusement.

"All right, that's enough of your shenanigans, into bed with you."

Harry laughed at little. Karen helped him off the sofa and up the grueling flight of stairs. By the time she eased him into bed, wrapping his legs in a blanket that came up to his waist, he was exhausted. She stuffed a pillow under his knees, piled several more behind him so he could sit up, threw the covers over him and handed him his laptop.

"Okay, I'm going to call Mum and pick up the kids. I'll be back in forty minutes. Don't move."

Harry nodded and opened up the computer. He was very proud of his clever idea to have Sarah hide Karen's present in Bernie's top closet shelf. The boy had already looked for stuff in there and not found anything, because his mother had hidden his presents in the master bedroom. He wouldn't go looking there again.

Harry sat there and pecked away at the keys until he heard the door open downstairs and little voices chirping. Daisy was carrying on particularly loudly, demanding to see him. He shut the computer and prepared for the small but mighty horde to descend.

Daisy and Bernie pounded up the stairs and into the bedroom.

"Dad!" Daisy shrieked. She kicked off her little pink boots and clambered up on the bed to get to her father. Her brother, far too dignified for this, made a show of running around to the other side.

Harry gathered both of his children in for a hug. He didn't let them go immediately, and only stopped holding on when Daisy started giggling and Bernie attempted to wriggle free.

"Dad, what happened?" Bernie asked once he'd been released. "All Mum told us was that you did something stupid."

"Yes Dad, let's have it." Daisy said seriously. "What did you do?"

Harry glanced at the bedroom doorway. Karen was leaning in it, arms crossed, looking far too amused for his taste.

"I didn't look before I leapt, and I ran headlong into something very nasty," Harry answered them, which was basically the truth.

"What?" Bernie asked.

"A big knife."

"You ran into a knife with your leg?" Daisy said, looking at his bent knee. She was baffled. "Did you not see it?"

"No," Harry said honestly.

"Can you get up?" Bernie asked.

"Not right now. But after tomorrow, yes, I can."

"Yay! You'll be up for Christmas!" Daisy exulted. "I wonder if Santa will get my list."

"You haven't even sent it yet! How's he supposed to get it if you don't post it?" Bernie said sarcastically. At least he wasn't so cruel as to tell her that Santa wasn't real. Harry thanked heaven for small favors.

"Why don't you two go downstairs? You can finish your letters in the kitchen," Karen suggested and left.

Daisy, satisfied that her father was all right, took the hint. She crawled away across the bed and hopped down to the floor to find her boots. Bernie watched as she scurried off after her mother, but he stayed behind.

"Dad, are you sure you're all right? Mum dropped us off at Grandma and Grandpa's yesterday and she looked terrible. She's much better today, though."

Harry sighed. He could be a little more open and accurate with his older child. "There was an incident, and I ended up in hospital overnight," he said softly. Bernie's eyes went wide. "Gave your mum a terrible scare. Please, on your honor as a man, don't tell your sister. I'll never hear the end of it."

Bernie quickly stilled himself and nodded sagely at this advice. Last week, Daisy wanted to be a pop star – the week before, a detective. But her latest professional idea was that she was going to be a doctor when she grew up.

"Yes Dad."

"Go on downstairs, now. Show her how to sign her name with joined-up writing. Tell her Santa will take her more seriously if she does." And he winked. Bernie smiled and headed out.


	7. Red Scarf

Here it is: the grand finale. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

* * *

_Red Scarf._

The next few days passed without real incident. Harry slowly got his strength back and by Christmas Eve he was loping all over the house, assisting with small tasks, herding the children, calling the office, and stealing the occasional Christmas cookie. Karen, up to her elbows in flour, caught him on almond biscotti number three and chased him out of the kitchen with a rolling pin. He made a pretty speedy escape on his crutches with a cookie in his mouth, and the kids thought it was hilarious.

Karen sighed. It was great having everybody home for Christmas, but the children were making her a little barmy and Harry was making a grade-A pest of himself. Fortunately, Christmas Day was tomorrow, and it would all be over. She watched as Daisy put the last touches on an angel cookie and smiled. At least Christmas morning would go well. The Stretter household had a rule when it came time to open presents on Christmas: there was to be no excitement until 8:30 in the morning, because mummy and daddy needed to be alert enough to take pictures. Karen had made this rule three years ago, after she and Harry had stayed up 'til three trying to assemble Daisy's bike and spent all their motor skills on it. The documentation of Daisy actually _riding_ the bike the next day had only been good for a laugh.

The next day at 8:45, it was all over. Every present under the tree had been opened. Harry and Karen were slumped on the couch in their night things, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper. The kids were off playing with their toys in the dining room. Daisy was developing into a craft nut like her mum, so she had been particularly excited by a beginner's cross-stitch kit, and Bernie had received a skateboard, something he'd been asking for all year. He was riding it very slowly in the kitchen.

Harry sipped his tea and observed the kids beyond his left socked foot, which was resting on the coffee table next to the camera. His crutches were close at hand, leaning against the couch arm. Karen was slurping some coffee and casting surreptitious glances at Harry every few seconds. Harry was catching every look but pretending not to notice.

He knew from that look that Karen saw his little teaser in his coat pocket – after all, she was alone with his coat for a quite a while about a week ago, with nothing else to do. Finally tired of Karen's looks, he hailed Bernie.

"Bernie, I think you missed a present," he said casually.

Bernie looked up in confusion as he drifted by on his new skateboard. "I don't think so Dad, they were all under the tree."

"No, there's definitely one missing," Harry insisted. "Check your closet, would you?"

Bernie had already checked there last week, but decided to humor his father. He shrugged and walked away, wisely forgoing the skateboard. Karen heard him traipse down the hall. The closet door opened, and there was a gasp and some crinkling paper.

"Hey Dad, this isn't for me, it's for Mum! And it's from you!"

Karen looked startled. Harry felt extremely pleased with himself.

Bernie went into the living room and handed Karen a very fancy present. She looked at her husband in disbelief, who was sporting a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, and read the simple card.

_Dear Karen,_

_Merry Christmas. _

_Love,_

_Harry._

The crinkling paper caught Daisy's attention, and she came into the living room to stand beside her brother and watch. Karen eagerly opened the paper … and was dismayed. It was a plush woolen scarf, a deep shade of red with little sparkles running through it, all balled up. She liked scarves very much, and this one in particular, but after that jewelry store teaser she was not terribly pleased. She made a valiant effort not to show it in front of the children.

"Oh, a scarf! How lovely!"

"Karen, there's more," Harry said, catching the disappointment on her face. "Unwrap it."

There was no more paper to unwrap. A soft "oh!" escaped Karen as she realized he meant the scarf. So she opened it up and unfolded it. Sitting innocently in the center of the scarf ball was a small, blue box, nearly identical to the one she found in his coat pocket. And inside the box was a pair of stunning diamond earrings.

She gasped. These had to have been _ridiculously_ expensive.

"Harry, my God. This …"

"Is what you wanted?" he supplied.

She started laughing.

"Put them on."

"Okay, okay." Karen complied immediately and modeled them. "Well, what do you think?"

The diamonds caught all the light in the room and lit up her skin and hair just so. "You look amazing," Harry said quietly.

"They're really pretty, Mum," Daisy said.

Bernie whistled. "Nice job, Dad!"

The older one stood around long enough to be polite and then went back to his skateboard, but the precocious, inquisitive little one took the opportunity to wander over to Harry's side of the couch, where she bounced on her toes. It was a definite signal that Daisy was itching to do something, and it was probably something mischievous. Harry glanced at Karen and then eyed Daisy with an overdone look of suspicion.

"Uh oh," he said. "What do you want, then?"

Daisy chewed on her lip a bit. "I want to poke it. May I, Dad? Please?"

"Daisy Ann!" Karen squawked. "No you may not!"

Harry was totally confused. "I don't get it. Poke what?"

"Your leg," Karen said, and she sounded thoroughly disgusted, as though she'd had it out with Daisy over this issue at some previous point in time.

"But Mum, if I'm going to be a doctor, I can't be squeamish!" Daisy explained. "I _have_ to poke it!"

Harry almost started laughing, but held it in. Being a doctor was one thing – randomly poking people was quite another.

"Daisy, my dear," he said, with as much dignity as he could muster, "Poking me is not going to help you become a doctor."

"Yes, it will. Please?"

"No."

"Pleeeeease?" She was inching dangerously close to his leg.

"No."

"Pretty please with sugar on top?" She was giggling now, and reached for him.

"No!" Harry said. He scooped her up well away from his injured limb and held her fast like a baby.

Daisy had always enjoyed this kind of rough-and-tumble play. She laughed and started fidgeting and trying to escape. "PLEASE, Daddy!"

"No, sorry love, not happening," he said. Daisy's wiggling and giggling had made her shirt ride up, exposing her tummy. Harry leaned down and blew on it. She shrieked with laughter.

"See, what they don't tell you about being a doctor is sometimes patients get rebellious and fight back."

Karen was laughing at this by now, in chorus with her daughter, who was breathless from her father's onslaught.

"Dad, please let me go! I'll be good! I won't poke you, I promise!"

"You do?"

"Yes!"

"On your honor?"

"Ye-ess!" she shouted gleefully at the ceiling.

Harry pretended to evaluate this statement for second. "All right then, I know you keep your promises. Off with you." He set her on the floor and tapped her on the rear to get her moving. She scooted off to go play in the dining room. They all heard a sudden "Who-ho-ho!" from behind the kitchen island, winced at the crash, and nodded at Bernie's predictable "I'm okay, I'm okay."

"Oh yes, that skateboard was a brilliant idea," Karen muttered, rubbing her forehead.

"Well, just as long as he rides on the carpet, we have nothing to worry about."

Seeing that the kids were sufficiently occupied elsewhere, Harry realized that the moment had come. They could have that discussion he'd been planning. He motioned for Karen to shift over so she was close by, which she did.

"You know, since all the madness is over, I erm … I think we should talk."

Karen smiled. "We already have."

"Really." Harry did not sound convinced.

"Yes."

"We talked about … Mia?"

"Mm-hmm," Karen said.

Bewildered, Harry put an arm around her. "I told you nothing happened."

"Yep."

"I apologized."

"Profusely."

"And you forgave me."

"Yes, darling."

Harry scratched his head. "Right. Where was I during this conversation? I don't remember having it."

Karen snickered. "You were in hospital. The doctors had given you lots and lots of lovely painkillers and when you woke up you just started babbling and couldn't seem to stop. You told me _everything_."

Harry paled. "Everything?"

"Everything," Karen confirmed. "Told me you loved me, called Mia a slut, groused at me for peeking in your pocket… You even told me what you thought of yourself near the end. It was … sad, but illuminating."

He flushed. "Oh no. What did I say?"

Karen sighed. "You felt … how shall I put this? … unattractive."

There was a rather long pause. "Well …" said Harry. He couldn't quite meet her eyes or finish his sentence.

"For what it's worth, I think you're sexy."

"Oh, please," he said quietly.

"What, I do! You're the one who doesn't find _me_ sexy, that's the problem."

That got him. Harry quickly covered his surprise with sarcasm. "Oh yes, you've smoked me out. I blew my salary on diamonds because I can't stand you."

Karen pressed against him and laughed into his chest, breaking the mood. She peeked up at him. "Harry, I _do_ think you're sexy. And by the way, I don't always turn away from you. Sometimes you turn away from _me_."

Harry denied this with a snort. They stayed snuggled against each other for a few moments, watching the kids playing in the dining room (nicely for once).

"What happened to us?" he asked, staring at them.

Time had worked its quiet magic. They had healed enough to finish this.

"We got wrinkly and fat and tired," Karen said honestly. "Except you got more wrinkly than fat and I got more fat than wrinkly."

"That is completely untrue. You are not wrinkly, and you're certainly not fat. You do look rather thinner, though. This gym habit of yours is starting to worry me. It's like you're trying to disappear."

Karen noticed that he hadn't repudiated the statement about _him_, just her. "I'm not going to disappear, Harry. And maybe once you can walk without those things you should join me."

"Dropping hints, are we?"

"It made me feel better about myself," she said with a shrug. "Come with me after work and I'll show you the ropes. Once you've got the hang of it, start going on your own. That'll make you feel sexy again – no secretarial aid required."

Harry ignored her last little jab. "Hmm. All right, you have a deal."

They actually shook on it. And both of them felt a little better. If Harry knew Karen, and he _did_ know Karen, it wouldn't stop here. There would be more conversations. Eventually, there would be some public tears (instead of her usual private ones) and a bit of name-calling, when she felt comfortable enough to scream at him for being such an insecure idiot. He set himself in the moment though, determined to enjoy this bit of make-up cuddling while it lasted.

The phone ringing startled them both. The receiver was next to Harry, so he picked it up and squinted at the display. The number was unfamiliar. He shrugged at Karen and pressed the button to talk.

"Hello? … Oh Sarah, how are you? … Yes, she did, thanks for bringing it by. … What?" He broke into a smile and laughed softly. "That's fantastic. Congratulations. May I tell Karen? … My God. Bravo, love. … Well, I'm glad you called us too. … Yes, I'll see you next week. Don't you care come back before Monday! … Yes, all right, goodbye."

He rang off. Karen was staring at him, mystified. He smiled at her.

"Karl proposed."

Karen cheered and actually shook a fist in the air. "Oh, that's brilliant! I was so _hoping_ he'd ask her! Oh, we'll have to throw them a big congratulations party after New Year's. Oh, Harry!"

"It was really quite cute. She said he proposed at some nice restaurant. He took her out for high tea, put the ring on her finger and afterwards took her to his family's house, where his whole family was gathered, to formally present her to his parents as his fiancée."

"Oh my. How romantic! And she called us because?"

"Well darling, she hasn't got a whole lot of people to share the news with."

"Oh that's right. Well, I'm so glad she called here. Oh, I'm so excited for her. That's wonderful!"

Bernie came running in just then with his cell phone. "Mum? George wants to have me over for supper tonight, can I go?"

"No, you can't," said Karen. "We're going to Uncle David's for dinner, remember?"

"And Auntie Natalie's," Harry muttered. Karen elbowed him. "Ow. What?"

David and Natalie had been engaged since July. Due to David's stressful position and Natalie's work schedule they hadn't quite managed to set a date yet, although David had a nearly constant smile on his face, Natalie had a startlingly large rock on her finger, and they were sharing a very nice suite at 10 Downing Street. Harry glanced over at Karen in her earrings and wondered what Natalie would make of them.

* * *

That night after an excellent and lively dinner, they got home rather late. The kids were yawning and arguing over who had got the better Christmas cracker. Karen was thrilled. David and Natalie had finally managed to set a date and get some basic weddings things planned out. She was chattering about it excitedly, sounding as bright and cheerful and unforced as she had sounded before the whole disaster with Mia. And Harry thumped in at the end of their little parade, sagging in relief. Somehow everything had truly ended up okay, in spite of his idiotic mistake last year. The kids ran by into the dining room while Karen helped Harry out of his coat, peeling it off his shoulders and hanging it up for him while he balanced on his crutches. He obediently lowered his head so she could pluck off his hat and hang that too. Karen hurried away to chase the kids out of the dining room and herd them off to bed; Harry started up the stairs. 

About twenty minutes later the kids were in bed and Karen came into the bedroom. All the lights were off except for Harry's bedside lamp. He was almost done arranging himself under the covers and watched with undisguised interest as Karen undressed just beyond the chest of drawers, balancing with one hand against the wall.

She slipped out of her lacy black evening outfit and heels, peeled off her pantyhose, gently took off her new earrings, and put them in a china dish on the dresser while snagging her nightgown. With efficient motions she pulled it over her head and slipped under the covers, tantalizingly close.

She settled on her side, facing away from him. Harry's hopes sank. They both lay still for a few interminable seconds, she taut as a spring and facing the bureau, he flat on his back with his neck cricked from staring desperately at her shoulders. He was unable to move for his leg.

But then, ever so slowly, almost as if she were steeling herself to jump from a great height, she rolled over and faced him. Her eyes were clear and her mouth was taut and straight.

Harry met his wife's courage head-on. He reached out under the covers and pulled her into an embrace.

His injury made it awkward; she was half lying on top of him, her freed breasts loose under her nightgown and crushed painfully against his ribs. They both ignored the discomfort. Karen adjusted herself until she was cuddled up against him with her head on his chest. Harry re-positioned his arms and held her tight, unable to remember the last time he'd felt so wonderfully warm. They lay like this for a while, as though someone had glued them together a bit wrong, listening to the little night sounds around them and drifting.

"I can't believe I forgot," Harry said finally.

"Forgot what, darling?" Karen asked.

"The bloody Christmas lights. I never got a chance to buy new ones. Or put them up. I'm sure the children noticed."

Karen snorted, mostly at the direction his thoughts had taken. "Harry, if the children gave a fig about it, I'd know. Believe me. They knew exactly why you couldn't put the lights up, and they're firmly convinced that Santa didn't miss the house because of the excessive wattage on either side of us. It's fine." She stopped and thought for a second. "We should definitely get some new ones for next year, though."

"You mean you didn't like the amazing exploding light bulbs? I'm shocked. Well, I'll take care of it. Perhaps I'll get a bit bolder next time. I'll do like the Hendersons next door and outline the front of the house. That might be nice and … why are you laughing?"

Karen had interrupted him by giggling into his neck. "Sorry. Sudden vision," she said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Of what?"

"Of you," Karen said, "trussed up completely in Christmas lights …"

Harry leered at her. She swatted him and continued. "…dangling off the roof like an enormous disco ball and shouting for help."

He shot her a grumpy look, which was ruined somewhat by the smile ticking into his jaw. "Lovely. Am I really that rubbish at hanging lights, or are you just mocking me for the hell of it?"

"Mmm," said Karen, closing her eyes and ignoring his question. "Now I'm setting it to the theme music from _Curb Your Enthusiasm_."

Harry considered her comment for a second, trying to remember the tune. Then he burst out laughing and immediately tried to stifle himself with the sheets, lest he wake the children.

"Darling, I'm serious," Karen said, trying to control her own giggles. "Please don't. Just buy one nice line and get the porch. It's all right. Ooh, maybe we can get those zigzagging icicles! Those are so pretty."

"Icicles? What the hell do we need icicles for?" Harry responded, wiping his face on the comforter. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's cold, woman. We get those _naturally_."

Harry knew full well what Karen was referring to, but it was too much fun to bait her. The glint in his eyes, accompanied by his overdone enunciation of 'naturally,' was enough to incite her to tickle him. She managed to get his ribs before he could shield himself and he produced a small, squeaky noise.

"Stop that!"

"I can't help it. Not only is my husband rubbish at hanging Christmas lights, he's a ridiculous tease."

"I do try," he said gallantly.

There is something about the air in a room that can change with the emotions of the two people in it. They got comfortable again (Harry made sure to keep Karen's hands well clear of his ribs) and adjusted the covers. The clock chimed downstairs as they lay there, cozy and giddy, while Harry grinned like a fool and Karen got rid of the last of her chuckles, and they changed the air around them until it felt different. Younger. Harry tipped his head back into the pillow and smelled warm cider and smoke. He wondered if Karen smelled it too.

The night had gone absolutely still. They breathed in and out into the silence and it was almost as though someone was carefully tipping the water out of a teacup, pouring off the years and the house and the children, leaving only the pungent, spicy dregs, the Harry and Karen of long ago. They were Here certainly, but they were also There, twenty-somethings fresh out of university, cuddled in bed in Harry's chilly, cramped flat with leaky windows and a demonic stove determined to burn anything that anyone put in it. They were not old, and they were not tired.

They were ready.

"I've so missed you," Karen murmured.

"I've missed you too," Harry rumbled in her ear.

Their lips met and Karen tangled her hands in his hair. Harry hunted around for a gathering of fabric and slipped his hands under her nightgown. He began to roam around the soft, smooth skin of her back, locating as if by instinct the little mole to the right of her spine, riding her hip. He lazily circled it with a finger, pleased to have found something so familiar. Karen made the final leap then, straddling him under the covers for better leverage and hugging his waist with her knees. She deepened the kiss as she folded herself down like a collapsible chair and pressed every possible inch of her warm body to his.

Harry noticed the maneuver, even occupied as he was. He quickly freed one hand and slapped off his bedside light, leaving them both in total darkness. Karen giggled.

_The End_


End file.
